


The Eye of the Storm

by Vgwd



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vgwd/pseuds/Vgwd





	1. Dexter

Dexter lets himself into Deb's house. She sucks at home security, her locks are disappointingly easy to pick. He locks the door properly and steps carefully around the usual clutter in her lounge. Clean clothes are piled on the counter, coffee mugs on the coffee table balanced on a stack of magazines. Deb has a secret magazine fetish. She devours the glossies that are essentially advertisements for high end make up bags and shoes. She would never admit to anyone that she knows that she reads them and then tries to recreate the looks that she sees but on her budget. She's one step away from setting up a pinterest look book. But she works mainly with men so has cultivated a carapace of disinterest that only Dexter knows is a mask. He makes his way through to the kitchen where she has at least done the dishes and set them to drain on the counter. He opens the fridge and takes out two cold beers. She has the same bottles in there that were there last week. He knows because he marked them. Deb is drinking less these days because she is on some hefty meds. The drugs don't mix well with alcohol. He opens both bottles and puts the lids on the counter before checking her answerphone. She's picked up all of her messages and opened all of her post. He's relieved. She seems to be coping better.   
He sits at the table for a while. if he turns his head slightly, he can see her asleep in her bed. Deb sleeps like the dead. This isn't the first time he's broken into her house while she's asleep. He likes to prowl around her space, to stalk her, to see her at her most vulnerable. Her gun is by her bed, he can see it. It's loaded but the safety is on. But she sleeps so soundly that he could have his hands around her throat before she even opens her eyes. More and more, Dexter sees Deb as a victim. His victim. It shouldn't thrill him but it does. He feels the same anticipation in his throat when he's at Deb's on the middle of the night as he does when he's preparing a kill room. He can't see this ending well. He studies the body in the bed. She'd be easy to subdue even without the needle. He's always been able to hold her down, to restrain her. Harry put a stop to their playfighting when Dexter turned twelve. Deb never fought properly, she was always just playing. Dexter rarely was. He's always been bigger than her, stronger. More able to take pain. He could tie her down, he could cuff her wrists to her bedposts. He could use his belt around her throat, just enough to scare her a little. He feels the twist in his stomach at the thought of forcing Deb. He's not sure that he doesn't like it so he drinks from his beer and watches Deb until he's calm again. She doesn't move in her sleep. The medication she is on knocks her out cold. She's barely with it when she's awake so asleep she doesn't stand a chance. One of her legs is hanging out over the side of the bed. She always sleeps in pyjama shorts and a tshirt. It's so conscientiously not sexy that Dexter feels a twinge of lust in his stomach. The same twist he felt when he saw her in jean shorts with Briggs. Fucking Briggs. Literally fucking Briggs. Strung out on cocaine and looking like a poster campaign for a fucked up life. Dexter knows he's responsible but he doesn't care. Even when he was standing over Briggs' corpse with Deb telling him he was lost, he was painfully aware of the bed. Of how close they were to the dirty, rumpled, sweaty sheets and how he could have just locked the door and fucked her right there with Briggs cooling slowly in the room. He probably would have put the body in the bathroom. He doesn't like clutter. He is a meticulous as Deb is messy. Which is why he can partition his life and his passtime and Deb fell to pieces. But she's mending now. Papering over the cracks. Growing a layer of protection around them both, like bones do when they've snapped. Dexter takes a few more gulps of beer and considers the fantasy of fucking Deb next to a body. Of seeing the fear and disgust in her eyes. Of knowing that he can make Deb do whatever he wants because she never says no to him. What he really wants to do is take her back to the shipping container and fuck her where she shot La Guerta but even he can recognise that would be in poor taste.   
Instead he carries both bottles into the bedroom and sets them down on the table on 'his' side of the bed. Dexter undresses silently, he can hear her breathing steadily out of sync with his own. Deb's clothes are in a heap on the floor sort of near the laundry basket. He puts his own neatly on the chair by the window. When he is completely naked, he slides into the bed next to her and pulls her close to him. He wants to feel her skin on his. He needs Deb to be close to him, he needs to know that she belongs to him. He told her that she didn't belong with Briggs, which is true, he didn't add that by extension, she belongs with Dexter. And he said with but he meant to. Deb belongs to him. Only to him. Dexter strokes her thigh proprietorially. It makes her twitch and her eyes flicker but don't open. Dexter shifts closer to her and tickles the back of knee which does make her open her eyes. She's dopey and doesn't focus on him immediately. He tickles her again. The back of her knees is her weakspot. He discovered it when she was seven and it incapacitates her completely.   
"Fuck Dex, it's 3am." she kicks at him gently, an involuntary reflex to his tickling fingers, and closes her eyes again. She's fighting to stay awake and is losing.   
"It's 2.37". He corrects. She opens her eyes again with a glare and a sigh. If she's confused by his appearance in her bed, she doesn't acknowledge it. Or the fact that he's naked. Dexter moves his hand up her thigh, still tickling her.  
"What do you want?" she yawns. Dexter kisses her. She yawns half way through it and he touches her throat. A quick reminder that he has control. She takes the point and struggles to wake up properly. "I should give you a key". her voice is slurred. He kisses the corners of her mouth and slides his hand under the edge of her shorts.   
"Good idea". He pulls Deb even closer and he knows that she can feel his erection pressing against her. He's never felt so utterly horny, even as a teenager. Back then, he was focused on the kill. Now he only has to think out Deb and he's hard. Her skin, her hair, her submission all make him horny. Deb exhales as his fingers delve inside her, fluttering inside her, making her squirm.   
"'m not in the mood" she mumbles, trying to wriggle away from him. He pulls her back and she's so doped up that she can't stop him. "Don't say no, Deb" he mumbles, there's a warning in his voice. If she says no, he's not sure he'll stop. She doesn't say anything. She might have fallen asleep again.   
Dexter moves Deb onto her back and kisses her stomach. Another weak spot. Although this one he only discovered recently. His soft kisses make her muscles clench. He can see his own fingermarks on her arms, his own bite marks on her skin. He's marked her as his own. Any one else who sees these would know that she belongs to someone. He lets his mouth move upwards and his teeth graze her nipples, making them harden. Dexter enjoys the involuntary reactions her body has. She could be saying no, he listens to check that she isn't, but her body tells him exactly what he wants it to. She's still not properly awake even when Dexter bites onto her shoulder, she only makes a small moue which spurs him on. He wants to hear the hitch in her throat, the croak she makes when she comes. He spreads her legs roughly and covers her with his own body. Dexter pulls her legs around his waist before he pushes inside her. And there it is, the catch in her throat that tells him he's hurt her. Again, he feels the illicit thrill of inflicting pain on her. Even when it's pleasurable. Deb is never ready for him, it's never easy for her. He always hurts her when he enters her, he thinks it's another involuntary reaction. She lets him fuck her but she thinks it's wrong, on a subconscious level, Dexter thinks. But it doesn't stop him. He still inflicts the pain, it hurts her each time he thrusts and he is not gentle. He braces himself against the headboard, he can feel Deb is barely holding onto him, she could be passed out. It feels the same as when they were young and she fell asleep against him on long journeys. He'd end up carrying her into the house. He can feel her heart beating against his. He moves her hips, tilts them up, opens her legs wider to make it more comfortable for her. It's like moving a doll. Or a body. Except he can feel her breath against his neck. She's breathing fast, shallow breaths as he moves her body with his. The headboard thumps the wall and he thinks he should move it a couple of inches away from the wall. Deb exhales on each thrust as if she's at the gym. In between the sighs, she makes small plaintive noises that get closer together when he slides his fingers between their bodies and flickers his fingers over her clit. He can feel his own orgasm building in his muscles and he wants to make sure that Deb comes too. It makes her complicit. He increases the pace, feeling her thigh muscles tighten around his waist. He growls into her ear when he comes hard and Deb is close behind him. Her own growls are smaller, kittenish but sleepy. Dexter doesn't just collapse on her, he knows he is heavy and so he rolls onto his back next to her. There's a damp patch on her ceiling that he should probably sort out. She's asleep in seconds, he's not far behind.


	2. Debra

Deb is asleep when Dexter arrives. She sleeps deeply now because she is medicated. And self medicating. She knows that Dexter checks the bottles in her fridge so she leaves those ones alone and has a secret stash in the trunk of her car. She has to drink it warm but it's worth it to not have to deal with a solicitous Dexter. She is careful to make sure he sees that she is coping well. But she sleeps a lot and she knows there are nights when he comes to visit her. There are nights when she wakes and he's in her bed and there are mornings when she wakes and she knows he's been there while she slept; he's wandered around her house - her space and it feels like an invasion. Tonight she wakes when he slides into the bed next to her. She has started to sleep on one side of the bed instead of starfishing in the centre. She hates herself for having made this concession, it's an acknowledgement of their relationship and it makes her feel queasy. His body is cool from the air con and he's naked. She knows what he wants, what he always wants from her now. Deb likes sex but sometimes Dexter is overwhelming in his desire to possess her. she doesn't think he was like this with Rita. With Lila maybe, Hannah possibly but his constant priapic need disturbs her. Deb didn't want this. When she thought she wanted to be with Dexter it was a different Dexter. A sweet, gentle, slightly autistic stable man; reliable and safe. Not this - thing - that he is now. She corrects herself, he's always been like this, she just didn't know it. And now she's trapped and nothing makes that more obvious than the feeling of Dexter's erection pressing into her back.   
She feels him stroking her thigh, the pressure on her skin enough to wake her up a little more. His fingers are calloused from the boat. She had never noticed that before. But she doesn't trust men with soft hands, a hang over from reading "Of Mice and Men" in college. She doesn't really want to wake up. If she wakes up, she'll have to think. So she tries to ignore him. But he moves closer and tickles the back of her knee. Fucking Dex, he knows all of her weak spots. He could drop her like a sack of potatoes when they were kids by tickling her there. Deb resents that he can use her body against her. She opens her eyes and only looks at him when he keeps touching her. She tells him it's too early and pedant that he is he tells her the exact time. She yawns and tries to ignore the heat of his fingers trailing from her knee to her thigh. When she yawns, pointedly, he kisses her. She yawns again and he squeezes her throat with his free hand. She wakes up completely at that. Dexter likes to let her know that he's in charge and it worries her that he's so willing to exert pressure on her. In her darker thoughts, she thinks that one day he won't stop. His fingers are working their way under her shorts methodically and he pulls her close enough that she can feel his heartbeat. She's tired and she doesn't really want this but he slides his fingers inside her making her gasp despite herself. She squirms away but he holds her in place, implacably.   
"I'm not in the mood" she's in the mood far less than she used to be. Deb feels guilty, she opened this door and she didn't know what kind of creature would come through, let alone if she could control it. Turns out she can't.   
"Don't say no, Deb" his voice is soft but she knows the tone. Don't go in my room, don't touch my stuff, don't tell Harry, Don't say no - or else. The warning is clear. Don't say no, you won't like what I do next. Deb is afraid now. She's afraid of her brother. She's afraid of saying no because he won't stop. Dexter will say he can't stop; he's at the mercy of his dark passenger but it's a cop out. He likes hurting her even when he pretends he doesn't. Deb doesn't reply, doesn't breathe. If she stays still long enough he might not notice her. She feels hot inside as he moves her onto her back, like a doll. He kisses her stomach and she wants to punch him. Dexter uses every iota of knowledge he has against her. He forces her own body to betray her and it makes her sick to her stomach even as her stomach muscles tense under his lips. He's a fucking piece of shit. A piece of shit who bites and bruises her just so he can see the damage on her skin and ignore the damage in her soul. He runs his teeth over her breasts and to her shame, her nipples harden. Deb feels Dexter sink his teeth in her shoulder and it hurts so she moans quietly. Which makes him change pace. She's grateful that she took a double dose tonight, she's mercifully dislocated from reality which is just as well because Dexter is hurting her and she can feel it through the drugs and booze.   
He pulls her legs apart and is inside her in one long, deep thrust that burns as he fills her. Her legs are around his waist and she could be watching this on tv except she feels it, she can feel every movement inside her as he pushes in and out, not caring if he hits the right spot for her which he isn't. He's uncomfortably big inside her and he's too rough, his hands are digging into her flesh, he's biting her - isn't that what sadists do? Lundy would know. Fuck - Lundy. Deb groans as Dexter braces himself against her headboard and she hangs on to Dexter - barely - trying not to think about Lundy because that still hurts. Her heart is racing and he finally repositions her, easing the pressure. Deb won't tell him that he hurts her, she's too proud to ask him to stop and too scared that he won't. Instead she breathes regularly against his neck, smelling herself on his skin and trying to ground herself. Dexter moves faster and slides his fingers into the tiny space between their bodies. Deb hates him when he moves his big, chunky, fingers over her clit, he's good at this, he can make her come even if she's not in the mood. He does it deliberately, he hates coming on his own. So his sausagey fingers stroke and slide and she hears herself mewing like a fucking cat as he growls into her skin and climaxes inside her. She comes almost straight after, tightening her legs around him. He flops off her, and Deb is exhausted so she doesn't say anything and neither does he. Deb lets herself drift off again, she'll think about it all tomorrow.


End file.
